


The Light of Our Reunion

by ViaLethe



Category: Greek and Roman Mythology
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Yuletide 2011, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-25
Updated: 2011-12-25
Packaged: 2017-10-28 02:46:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/302884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ViaLethe/pseuds/ViaLethe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The seasons change, and Persephone makes the journey from north to south, from love to love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Light of Our Reunion

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mithrigil](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mithrigil/gifts).



“You don't have to go, you know,” he says, folding her into his arms like he'll never let go.

“I do,” she says, her voice muffled against the front of his shirt; it's been long enough now that she hardly notices the scents of death clinging to him, the undefinable but chilling smell that, according to him, lingers around every pathologist. In the beginning, he said she'd get used to it; she never really has, though. It's always there around him, just under the roses, or lilies, or whatever other flowers she's brought home from the shop to brighten their house.

“You know I have to go,” she says (they do this every single year, still). “That's the deal we made.”

He releases her then, and sighs, moving off to close the curtains against the early night. The days have grown long enough to exist once more, up here in the far north of the world; the hours of sunlight that leak through shine down pale and thin, but brighter than the perpetual twilight that darkens much of the season.

The first year, after their whirlwind romance and hasty wedding, after he'd brought her up to a world she hardly recognized as part of the same planet she'd always lived on, she'd nearly wasted away from the lack of light and fresh air, kept indoors by the dark and the cold. Her world shrunk down to only him, and all that kept her from taking the next plane back south to her mother (beyond, of course, the extraordinary difficulty in doing such a thing; travel up here had to be planned extensively ahead of time) was the fresh fruit he brought her daily, obtained from mysterious sources at what she was certain must have been terrible expense.

After that first season, it got easier – once she demonstrated her way with plants and her eye for color and arrangements, the florist in town was happy to have her, even if only seasonally; over time she'd made her own friends, her own place, here in his land. They'd learned to be happy with each other, she with her struggling winter flowers, he with the mysteries of the dead.

Except, of course, for this one point of contention.

“I'll come back,” she says the next day, bags packed beside her. “I always do.”

“I know,” he says, but his eyes are mournful, and she wonders if one year she'll come back to find him lost completely, disappeared into the company of those who are already gone.

  
_  
**Six months later**   
_   


Her mother sighs and wipes dark soil from her hands, shaking her head over the row of newly planted bulbs. “I wish you wouldn't go, dear.”

Persephone tips her face up to the sun. The seasons barely change, this far to the south, in the rich, humid lands where she was born. Life is everywhere here, in abundance – the birds calling from the trees, insects humming through the air, the breeze heavy with the scent of flowers and a slight tang of salt off the nearby sea. And she's warm, warm straight through to her bones, warm enough to raise a sheen of sweat on her skin. Almost perfect, and yet...

“I have to go, Mama. I miss him, you know that.”

“You certainly speak of him enough.” Her mother's lips thin into a disapproving line, and she rises, turning towards the house. It's been so many years Persephone has to think carefully to keep track of them all, and her mother still doesn't approve of the man who stole her daughter away (in her words), still doesn't approve of the life they've made, or where they've made it. And she's so lonely down here (they'd always been so close, just the two of them together) that Persephone can't break the agreement they made so many years ago, can't bring herself to stay in the north for the whole of the year.

Of course, the place has its own attractions, she admits, watching bees and butterflies flit from flower to flower, hummingbirds darting like tiny jewels through the air. Her mother's garden always seemed the most beautiful place in existence. For her, it was made all the more beautiful the day a dark-haired man from a different world had leaned over the gate and asked her to dinner.

She suspects her mother would not agree on that particular point.

“I'll come back, Mama,” she says, leaving a swift kiss on her mother's cheek. “I always do.”

“I know it,” her mother says, shooing her off with a gesture, but her eyes are wet and she looks so very lonely already; Persephone turns away, to the north.

Her heart pulls, and her feet must follow, for another season.


End file.
